by Ian Smith
At 4 p.m. I was summoned to a meeting with Nkomo at Derrick Robinson’s house. There had been massive intimidation throughout Mashonaland and in areas such as Victoria province. Canvassers from UANC (Muzorewa) and ZAPU (Nkomo) had been killed, some buried alive! Nkomo still believed we could win enough seats to form a government of national unity excluding Mugabe who, Nkomo said, could not be trusted, as was proved by Mugabe’s breach of the agreement he had made with him. I expressed my view that because of the massive intimidation, Mugabe would win a majority, and it was necessary to plan for this contingency, and, if need be, force the British to remain and honour their agreement. Nkomo concurred. I asked: if Mugabe won plus or minus forty seats, should he not be brought into a government of national unity as a means of ending the violence and bringing peace to our country? Nkomo thought for a while and then said, ‘Yes’ — but would our security chaps accept this? I replied that they would. We decided to meet again tomorrow.
At 6 p.m. van der Byl came to report that the results were in keeping with our worst fears — it looked as if Nkomo would win twenty seats, Muzorewa three or four and Mugabe the rest, not even one would go to Sithole.
At 7 p.m. I received a phone call to ask if I would visit Mugabe at his house in Mount Pleasant. I was welcomed most courteously, and Mugabe ushered me to a seat in his lounge. He said the results now indicated that his party had won a majority and I was the first person he had called in for an exchange of views. They could not get over their good fortune at inheriting this jewel of Africa — this wonderful country with its sophisticated infrastructure, viable economy, broad-based industry, the breadbasket of central Africa. They realised that it was not only the professional men and the primary producers — farmers and miners — who were responsible for this, but also the skilled artisans, those who kept the wheels turning, and he wanted to assure me that it was their intention to preserve all of this. They were sufficiently realistic to accept that it was based on the free enterprise system and, while there would have to be changes and improvements for the people, this must be done gradually in a realistic manner. He said he appreciated the vital need to retain the confidence of the white people so that they would continue to play their part in building the future of our country. Farmers would be encouraged to continue with their wonderful record of production, but he did not believe that vacant land and absentee landowners could be tolerated, a point on which I readily agreed.
He then asked if I would like to comment. My reply was that his main problem was his image in the eyes of our white people, and indeed the free world in general: a Marxist dictator who was dedicated to replacing our free enterprise system with communism and all the undesirable practices associated with it. His principal task would be to correct this and make it clear that his objective was to do what was best for his country and people in order to promote a better life for all of them. If he would repeat in public what he had just said to me, I believed it might start things moving in the right direction. His appreciation seemed genuine, and as he escorted me to my car he expressed the wish that we would keep in contact. I assured him that I would always do whatever I could in the interest of my country.
When I got back home I said to Janet that I hoped it was not an hallucination. He behaved like a balanced, civilised Westerner, the antithesis of the communist gangster I had expected. If this were a true picture, then there could be hope instead of despair. But it would be wise to resist jumping to conclusions because communists are cunning tacticians, noted for their skills in psychological warfare. My prevailing wish was that his party be disqualified — anything else would be blatant dishonesty, condoning the dreadful intimidation which had been recorded. We were to have the answer the next day.
I had no confidence in British integrity or courage to make a stand on principle, so it hinged on Walls, principally, and his Nat JOC. Tragically, judging from his recent performance, I was not all that sanguine. Their dilemma was complicated because of timing. It should have been nipped in the bud before the announcement of any results — it certainly did not require a genius to work that out. Tomorrow was their last chance, but my hopes were fading. I could not see the leadership qualities and the necessary courage for action. What a desperate position for our poor Rhodesians! For me it was a sleepless night; my mind never stopped working, but I was unable to find the miracle which would rescue us from what appeared to be the oncoming catastrophe.
In my usual pragmatic way I was planning for the worst contingency. Emotionalism and recrimination invariably proved counter-productive, so if, willy nilly, we were going to be saddled with this, there would be no option but to make the best of it, and I believed that Rhodesians with their characteristic fair-mindedness, balance and practical acceptance of the facts of life would try to make it work.
I met my ministers at 8.30 a.m. on Tuesday 4 March. Van der Byl and Irvine went to the Nat JOC meeting while I remained with the rest for a general discussion. They returned sooner than expected: a damp squib had arrived from Thatcher, who evaded Walls’s argument — a typical Foreign Office reply, no doubt dictated by Carrington. MacLean (army) and Mussell (air force) were opposed to unconstitutional action as they might have problems taking all their people along. But, I asked, what about decent, honest, constitutional action? What about insisting that the agreement be complied with? Walls, somewhat lethargically, believed it was too late. None of us concurred, but sadly we were powerless. Muzorewa was the only one who could have forced the issue, but none of us believed there was any hope there. Walls had told them that Peter Allum, the police commissioner, was the weak link, and had indicated his intention to pull out.
I wondered, and sent a message to Flower, asking him to come for a talk. He came and claimed there was no truth in the story about Allum, but said, unfortunately, there was friction between the two of them and that this had promoted extravagant accusations. ‘In fact, as you are probably aware,’ he said, ‘friction between Walls and those working with him is not uncommon.’ This was a sad state of affairs, especially in the current exacting circumstances, when we should have been a closely-knit team. I asked Flower, as the ‘old man’ of Nat JOC, to use his influence to promote a bit of maturity and team spirit, and questioned if there had been any progress along the lines of our Sunday discussion and Walls’s letter to Thatcher. Flower confirmed that the reply had been evasive, and that the single service chiefs (army and air force) were urging caution. The Nat JOC believed that it was up to the politicians to take the initiative, and then maybe they would be able to back that up. I could not credit such illogical reasoning. As we all knew, our politicians had been stripped of all power by the Lancaster House agreement. The only two people with power were Soames, the Governor, and Walls in his capacity as commander of security forces. Flower concurred. Was it not a fact that all our security forces were on standby in anticipation of an order? I asked, as I had heard this from McLaren and certain unit commanders. Again Flower agreed. And what about the last sentence in Walls’s letter to Thatcher, where he indicated his intention, if the British failed in their duty, to act in the manner he thought best?
Flower was surprisingly forthcoming, saying that Walls had a reputation for talking and threatening, but little follow-up action. There had been many complaints over the years from unit commanders about the lack of decisions concerning some of their daring cross-border operations. I asked if it were not a fact that, especially during the period when Vorster was obsessed with his policy of ‘détente’, that Walls was constrained by South African political pressure. Flower conceded the point, but said that there were few such cases, and once I had made it clear to our security council that such interference could not be tolerated, it ceased to be a problem. He went on to point out that the overall position had been aggravated recently because of Walls’s aggressive and abusive behaviour, such as a recent meeting with Duff (Soames’s right-hand man) when he was not only insulting, but resorted to the use of four-letter words when referring to Soame
s.
I stressed that their biggest mistake was lack of communication with us, especially as the various councils and committees had been in place all along. ‘Well, as you know,’ Flower replied, ‘McLaren tells me he kept you informed that Walls was the stumbling block — the rest of us were in favour of meetings.’ Was it not possible, I asked, for a joint delegation of Nat JOC and the council of ministers to go right now and confront Soames, and insist that he implement Lancaster House? ‘If he refuses, then we make it clear that we will support Walls in making a public statement that the election is null and void, giving the valid reason, and that another election will be planned.’
He replied that McLaren had pressed that idea, with support from others, but Walls was on his high horse, resisting further contact with Soames. Flower said he would support such a last effort, although he had a feeling that we had left it too late. It should have been done on the previous day, or better still the day before. I asked him to contact McLaren and see if it was not possible, even at this late moment, to rescue something.
I went back to join my colleagues, who were still trying to see if there was anything we could do. The final results had been confirmed: Mugabe fifty-seven, Nkomo twenty and Muzorewa three. There had been a few wild ideas from people outside, suggesting military action, saying that some of the unit commanders were ready waiting for a lead to be given. I made it clear that without the support of the Nat JOC any such action would be sheer madness. It would put us in a position where Rhodesians could be fighting Rhodesians and killing one another. It seemed to me that our only hope was along the lines I had discussed with Flower, and my hope was that he had contacted McLaren — what else could we do but wait? There was a clear consensus that once more we had been betrayed. First it was the British, then the South Africans. Those we managed to resist, but now it was a combination of Britain, South Africa and some of our own Rhodesians. This latter combination, of course, was the most deadly mixture of all: traitors working together with your enemies and undermining your foundations from within. It is important to place on record, however, that there had been previous occasions when Rhodesians turned against us — that is always part and parcel of any democracy — but as long as we were under a strong Rhodesian Front Government we could withstand these. The master stroke was when our so-called friends, using sleight of hand, succeeded in removing us from office. This provided the fertile ground which was exploited by our enemies, enabling them to drive in a wedge, and from then on we were aboard a rudderless ship. Maybe with time we could have repaired the rudder, but when some of your crew mutiny and side with the opposing forces, the odds become insurmountable. The enthusiastic fledgling politician who believes he has all the answers and with puffed up chest and protruding jaw insists on jumping in the deep end, learns all too late that he is out of his depth and surrounded by sharks. Sadly, good people who attempt a rescue operation can also get caught up. We had to tread carefully and watch every step.
At 3.45 p.m. I went to see Soames. He said it was a shock result to all of them, but conceded that it was what I had predicted. I resisted reminding him of the occasion when he indicated the three areas in which they proposed to disqualify Mugabe because of intimidation, thus denying him victory — it must have been a kind of delayed shock! He asked what I thought. I reminded him that he was the one with the power to act, so it was more pertinent to ask what he thought. He replied that Mugabe admitted his people had no experience in government and felt the British should stay on and train them — what was my reaction? I replied that Britain was under a special obligation to ensure the right solution, in view of the fact that we had been given assurances in London, from Thatcher and Carrington downwards, that under this plan they could guarantee that there was no possibility of the PF coming to power. He claimed that he was unaware of any such undertaking and would not have accepted the job under such circumstances. Once again I resisted pointing out that this did not tie up with the plan he had previously put before me. It was clear to me that any such stressing of past truths would fall on deaf ears and be counter-productive to what we were trying to achieve. I therefore asked if he was satisfied that the election had been free and fair. He paused for a few moments. There had been some intimidation, he conceded, but they believed it had not significantly affected the results. But what about all the security reports and affidavits which, on the contrary, indicated differently? He did not attempt to disagree. It was clear to us, I told him, that the British intended to pull out as soon as the election was over and, according to our sources, this had been well and truly pre-planned. They had made up their minds, come what may, to wash their hands of Rhodesia. Oh no, how could I make such a suggestion — he pretended to be hurt. I assured him that I had not come to indulge in recrimination; my only wish was to safeguard my country’s future. However, in reply to my query as to whether the British would be prepared to stay on and assist — after all even Mugabe had requested this — his response was that we must accept that the British government would not wish to become further involved. Did I think it would help if there were some whites in the cabinet? Obviously, I replied, not only would it help to bolster white morale, but it would add experience and proficiency and thereby contribute towards better government. Had I any other suggestions? Yes, I said, a scheme to underwrite pensions and their remittability in order to encourage people to go on serving the country. He replied that they had looked at this and concluded that it was beyond their means. This came as no surprise, as I had pressed for it at Lancaster House. Nevertheless, I stressed that my plan was different and would apply only to those who continued serving for an extra period, say five years. If it succeeded in boosting confidence and stimulating the economy, then Britain would not be called on to make an extra contribution. Surely other countries in the free world could be incorporated to the extent that it would cover their own countrymen. He was interested, and said they would examine it. Finally, he opined that it might not be as bad as we believed — look at Kenyatta, he said, and how he had changed for the better. My reply was that we lived cheek by jowl with these countries, in contact with a constant stream of emigrants passing through from them, and according to our first-hand information Kenya was riddled with corruption, nepotism, incompetence and fraud, and as a result was bankrupt and in chaos; accordingly, I could not accept his premise. Surprisingly, he agreed. We parted on amicable terms, and he invited me to return if I so wished.
On Wednesday morning, 5 March, I attended party meetings amid a sombre and depressed atmosphere. I did what I could to promote positive thinking, advocating cool heads that would avoid recrimination over the past and concentrate on planning for the future. Some of those attending had been pleasantly surprised at Mugabe’s TV performance on the previous night — it was the complete antithesis of what was expected, and provided it was not a deliberate attempt to deceive his audience, there was still hope.
The next morning, caucus met — only twenty of us now, so there was all the more need to keep a tightly-knit body, but there were rumblings about weak links.
Friday 7 March brought visits from some of our black political colleagues; they still believed that something must be done to overturn the result. I had to tell them that they had left it a bit late. However, I said, the only hope was if they could arouse Muzorewa, Nkomo and Sithole and, with all their parties united, gain the support of Nat JOC to confront Soames. I wished them well, and said they knew they could rely on our support.
I talked to McLaren to see if there had been any development on that side. He explained how things had gone wrong. The Nat JOC had three options. The first was to eliminate intimidation, but that had not succeeded. The second was to proscribe certain areas, as Soames had indicated to me. At first the British had gone along with this idea, but gradually changed their minds, and in the end resisted it. Why were they allowed to get away with that? Our leadership was weak, he replied. Finally, they were faced with the last alternative: disclosing the truth about th
e intimidation and declaring the election null and void. What happened? The same answer as to your last question, he replied. I acknowledged that I was aware of that, from the meetings I had attended when I had attempted to force the issue. Was it now too late? If we all stood together and confronted Soames, he said, ‘I don’t believe he would have any option. Some of us have been trying to get this moving over the past week, but it’s a case of flogging a dead horse.’
I mentioned the advice which I had given to some of the black leaders at my earlier meeting, and repeated that we would be available if need be. When we parted company I think it fair to say that neither of us was sanguine about any positive action. In truth, it was almost too late, unless there was some dynamic lead. But from where would that come?
At 7 p.m. a message arrived requesting me to visit Mugabe. We had a pleasant talk, just to keep me in the picture. He had spoken to Nkomo about cabinet positions, but these had not been finalised. In keeping with our previous discussion, he said he was planning to bring in some white ministers, and that he would keep me in the picture. I advised him to continue on his path of moderation as, so far, he had created a favourable impression. Consistency and honesty on his part would gain white respect. I promised I would continue to make myself available for discussion if required, and he could rest assured that I would give him the truth, whether palatable or not. I took the opportunity to explain how the truth had been twisted against us over the question of our UDI. This had been brought about by one single factor: the British government’s failure to honour the agreement made with us at the Victoria Falls conference in 1963. British government diplomacy skilfully twisted this and succeeded in convincing the rest of the world that our action was promoted by a desire to maintain white control. In fact this question had never been touched on in our discussions with them. Mugabe commented that this was typical of the two-faced British. Muzenda was present during the discussion. I thought it important that we should eliminate recriminations over past history. I hoped they agreed with me that our objective should be to harness the efforts of all our people in order to build a great future in our wonderful country, and that the provoking of racial antagonism should be regarded as a crime. They nodded their approval. I recalled my first meeting with Tongagara at Lancaster House, where he had expressed views akin to those I had given, but I resisted mentioning this, because there was no doubt in my mind that Mugabe, while not actually a participant, had no objection to his assassination.